


we make our bed in a TIE fighter

by saltandlimes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Armitage Hux Has Issues, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Fandom Trumps Hate, Jedi Ben Solo, M/M, Post Rise of Skywalker, Redeemed Ben Solo, Slow Burn, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21980317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandlimes/pseuds/saltandlimes
Summary: Hux never expected to survive his stint as a Resistance mole. When he wakes up in the wreckage of the First Order's defeat on Exegol, he's not sure that he ever wanted to. The world he once knew is gone, and left in its place are a handful survivors and of course, Kylo Ren. Because Hux can't get rid of him, not even by getting shot in the chest.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 69
Kudos: 503
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Glass_Oceans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Oceans/gifts).



> A rather belated FTH offering for [glass-oceans](http://www.twitter.com/seaglassoceans) This might be a bit longer than we talked about in the end, but it's also going to be much better.

Hux shivers. His fingers twitch, and he flexes first one pointer, and then the other. It’s wet. He rubs his thumb against his palm. There’s a layer of something covering his hand, a glove, but it’s nothing like the buttery soft leather he knows and loves. 

His eyelids are sticky. 

Hux tries to lick his lips, but there is something in the way. The feel of a mouthpiece with its tongue depressor between his teeth makes him jerk, and his eyes flutter open. 

It’s dark. All around him is night, broken only by flashes of lightning that split the sky, bouncing off unseen hills and valleys, rocketing back to clouds swirling high above. Somewhere off to his left, a fire is burning. Hux spits, trying to free himself from the mask, but it stays secured to his face. He jerks his arm upwards, and something snaps. A heavy weight slaps against his thigh.

“General? General Hux?”

A woman comes into view. Her uniform is torn, a long strip missing from somewhere near her shoulder to her waist, her undershirt peeking through. Her dark hair falls across her face in matted strands. There is a streak of blood across one of her cheeks. She reaches out, and Hux coughs, spitting sweet syrup as she pulls hood and mask away from his face. His mouth tastes foul, bacta streaming down his lips and trickling across his bare throat, trailing down his chest and across his belly. 

“Unamo?” he asks. His voice is hoarse, slowly rasping from his throat and scratching up along the roof of his mouth.

“Yes, General,” she says. Her eyes are wide. 

“Where are we?”

Unamo glances sideways, towards where the fire burns in the corner of Hux’s vision. Hux tips his head from side to side, his neck slowly loosening up. When he can finally move his head, he cranes it to the left. 

“What in the name of the First Order is this?” he asks. The air is unpleasantly warm on his damp skin, and all around them a storm rages, although no rain falls. 

“Exegol, sir. Palpatine’s planet.”

“So the First Order lost, did it?” Hux’s heart thumps in his chest, but somehow his stomach doesn’t turn over like it once would have. 

“Everything. Every ship, every company. I think some of them…” Unamo trails off, her eyes flicking down to Hux’s bare chest, and then back up to his face. “We should get you some clothes, sir.”

“If it’s gone, I’m not a general. Anyway, I’m sure you’ve been told all about my defection.” Hux steps out of the suit that has been slowly leaking bacta. It unseals as he presses forward. The rock is hot under his bare feet, and a sharp piece pokes into his big toe. 

“This way, sir,” Unamo says. 

Hux sighs, but doesn’t bother to correct her. Instead, he starts his way across the short distance to the little campfire. It’s dwarfed by the conflagration just beyond it, the hulks of burning ships that litter the almost faceless landscape. Around it, a gaggle of people in tattered uniforms sit, some with their feet out towards the fire, others with their heads in their hands. Off to one side, a man lies wrapped in blankets, his dark hair covering his face. 

“This is everyone, general.”

“Everyone?” Hux asks. Unamo grabs a blanket from nearby, holding it out to him. It’s a little dirty, but Hux uses it to wipe the slime from his arms and legs. When he finishes, Unamo is holding out a tunic to him. It’s musty, as though its been stored for far too long, and definitely tailored for someone shorter and broader than he is. Hux pulls it on anyway, as he does the slim trousers Unamo holds out next. 

“Everyone loyal to you who I could get out, sir.”

“I’m not a general anymore” he repeats. His throat catches.

“Major Stridon flew us out as the Finalizer fell, and I got you on board in your tank. Tavson set it up back when Pryde tried to kill you, and made sure we weren’t discovered. MX-1823 and CD-3245 were of great help and distinction as well.”

“Why, Unamo?” Hux asks. He sinks down onto an overturned case, looking up at her, then around at the five people sitting around the fire. “Why did any of you do this? Pryde told you I was a traitor, I’m sure.”

“You’re our general,” Unamo says. “Pryde wasn’t. That’s all that matters, at least to us.”

Hux laughs, the sound bubbling out of his too wet throat, and fluttering through the hot, thick air.

“So you’ve saved me. For what? Are we to rebuild the First Order from this?” Hux waves at the five of them, at the man lying still off to one side. “Are we to try to bring a galaxy that does not want us to heel, or try to remake the Empire just when we have learned that the Rebels were right and all the Emperor ever cared for was power?”

“No,” Stridon says. His voice is hoarse, with a rasp that sounds like sandpaper deep in his throat. “But maybe we can make a life for ourselves.”

Hux laughs again, and this time the sound is even more broken than before. 

***

Hux wakes slowly. For a moment, just before he opens his eyes, he wonders if he will see the ceiling in his chambers on the Finalizer. Never in his worst nightmares, however, has imagined something like this. He sits up. 

The fire is still burning in front of him, and his ragged band of erstwhile rescuers are sprawled about it, their faces slack in sleep, the shadows under their eyes deep purples and browns in the firelight, with flashes of black when the lightning slices the sky. 

Hux pushes himself up, staggering a little. He makes his way to a crate and pulls it open. The hinges creak. When he cracks open one of the water bottles stashed inside, it tastes harsh, metallic, yet he pours it down his throat. When he finishes it, he looks around. Nothing has changed. The lighting still flashes across the plain, the great hulk of stone and metal a few hundred feet away still sits against the blurred horizon, and the wrecks of ships still burning all about them. The man under the blanket still lies still. 

Another flash of lighting splits the sky. In the white light it brings, Hux catches dark hair under the blanket. There’s something about the waves that reminds him of someone he knows. He stumbles towards the body, grabbing onto one of the overturned crates to keep himself steady. When he finally reaches the man in the blanket, his stomach turns over and his knees buckle. 

“Unamo,” he hisses. She’s fast asleep just a few feet away, but at his second hiss of her name, her eyes pop open. 

“Sir?”

“Who in the love of the galaxy is this?”

“Well, sir,” Unamo starts. 

“No. Just don’t.” Hux pulls back the blanket. 

The slow rise and fall of Kylo Ren’s chest is just barely visible with the cover drawn back. He has a loose tunic on, a little frayed around the edges, and long soft pants. 

“What’s wrong with him? No, actually, what a stupid question. I should be asking what’s right with this situation. Why is he here?”

“We found him. Just as we landed, sir. We weren’t sure he was alive, at least at first. But Tavson noticed his chest rising. And he is the Supreme Leader, isn’t he?”

“Am I ever going to have to stop telling you the Order is dead? _Dead_ , Unamo. Everything we’ve dreamed of, everything we wanted, all in ashes because of Kylo Ren and the Galaxy blighted Emperor.”

“I know, sir. But that doesn’t mean we are no longer loyal.”

“To me?” Hux asks. He waves a hand at Kylo Ren. “Or to him?”

“To you, sir. But Ren is still one of us.”

“Is he?” Hux asks. “It seems to me that most of this mess is his fault.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Unamo says. Her eyes dart to Ren, then back up at him. “Don’t you think it’s better, though, that when he wakes up, he knows we saved him, rather than left him to die?”

Hux cocks his head to one side. Ren’s chest continues to rise and fall, his eyes shut tight, and his mouth slightly open. As Hux looks across him, he notices there is a burn on one of Ren’s palms, as though something terribly hot and terribly fierce has passed through only one spot. Beyond that, there is not a single mark that Hux can see, no reason for Ren to be breathing shallowly and his eyes to be shut tight.

“So what _is_ wrong with him?”

“No idea, sir. He’s just been like that.”

“You don’t know if he ever will wake up?”

“No, but do you really want to take the chance?”

***

Hux is still having trouble keeping his balance. Stridon had suggested that he stay back at the campsite and make sure Ren doesn’t destroy it if he wakes up, but Hux had insisted he go along to try to find some ship still in good enough shape to make it off this hellhole of a planet. He’d had Tavson stay behind instead. No matter how much he insists, he can’t get them to stop calling him general, or following his orders. It spared him having to watch over Ren this time, though, and so Hux isn’t quite as aggravated by it as he was before. 

He grabs onto one of the twisted hunks of metal that litter the landscape. An edge bites into his hand, and Hux laughs under his breath. A little deeper of a cut, and he and Ren would have matching injuries. 

“Are you alright, sir?” Stridon asks. 

“I’ve been worse,” Hux tells him. The wound in his chest is nothing more than a tight scar, after all, and the stiffness will pass. It always does after a stint in bacta. He turns away from where Stridon and MX-1823 are trying to clear a path into what might have once been a star destroyer, to where CD-3245 and Unamo have brushed off a datapad that looks to only have a cracked screen.

“Found anything on that?” he asks. 

“No, sir,” CD-3245 says. “I don’t think it’s going to turn on.” 

Hux sighs. He flexes his knees then starts off again, ducking under a fallen beam into a corridor whose floor is decidedly crooked. He takes a step forward, letting the toes of his ill-fitting boot hit first, testing the warped panels. They hold. Hux puts one hand on the wall, trailing his fingers along it as he makes his way down the corridor. The air inside here is even thicker than it is out in Exegol’s dimness, and even the torch in his free hand makes little headway against the darkness. Hux kicks a partially decapitated corpse out of the way. There is a soft thud when it slides back into place after he passes. 

“General?” Stridon calls from somewhere behind Hux. 

“In here,” Hux yells back. The air is thick in his throat, and the words are muffled by the water that seems to hang in the air. He smacks a door control to his left. The ship - or what’s left of it - gives a groan, the door shuddering before falling still once more. Hux gives it a kick as well as he passes by. 

“What’s in there?” Stridon is closer now, and Hux hears footfalls on metal from behind him. He looks back over his shoulder. In the gloom, MX-1823’s dirtied breastplate still stands out, the only sign that there are truly people behind him, and not just the last echoes of a crew who lie dead in their ship’s twisted corpse. 

“No idea,” Hux calls back. “The doors aren’t powered enough to open, and without a databank access point, I can’t tell which part of the ship this is… or even which ship.” He pauses, leaning against the hand he has pressed to the wall. Stridon comes into view, first as a patch of darker black against the gloom of the corridor, and then, slowly, his features resolve in the light of Hux’s torch. His dark eyes glitter in reflected light. 

Hux turns away, picking his path forward around fallen consoles and parts of what might have once been officers. A flash of red in one of their uniforms makes him pause. 

“Who are they?” he says, waving down at the remains of a chief petty officer. 

“Final Order. They had a whole mess of them all suited up and pretty. Not that it did us any good. The Resistance still wiped us all out, fancy imperial army and all.”

Hux purses his lips. He’s halfway tempted to remind Stridon, yet again, that he’d given up his own place as part of “us,” that he was the traitor. But he holds his tongue. Stridon still has a blaster strapped to his waist, and for all that Unamo seems not to care what Hux did, there’s no point in risking things. 

The corridor curves to the right just in front of them. They make their way uphill a little to get around the bend. Once they have, it’s just a few steps to a door that Hux does recognize. Even if this is one of the ships Palpatine built, there is something universal about the door to a hanger bay. The flashing around the frame, the heavy casing over the door controls, and, of course, the automatic shutoff handle under its glass case isn’t really easy to mistake. Hux takes a moment to marvel at how, no matter the ship, no matter the designer, the thought of shields failing and the ship crumpling around the vacuum of space is enough for them to put in some sort of safety shield. 

He shakes his head. This is not the time. 

“You think anything in there could still fly?” Stridon asks. 

“There’s only one way to find out,” Hux says. He reaches out, keying the door controls. The ship shudders again, and one of the doors slides slightly ajar. It’s just enough that a hiss of air comes through, a cooler rush that flickers across Hux’s cheeks and then through his hair. It cools his flushed cheeks. 

The edges of the doors are cool. Hux yanks the right side, pulling hard. It slides back a few inches, just enough to let the soft blink of emergency lighting filter through. Its orange glow makes the corridor seem bright as day. 

“The power’s still on,” MX-1823 says. “The emergency generator must still be working.”

“Can either of you get this open?” Hux asks. The words feel mealy in his mouth, a request instead of an order. 

Stridon steps forward and yanks, pulling the door open just a few more inches. The gears grind, squealing as he tugs against them. 

“Let me-” MX-1823 says. She’s cut short, though, by the crackle of the radio as it cuts the thick air. 

“General?” Tavson’s voice comes brokenly from Hux’s hip. He squeezes the controls, the slice in his palm aching a bit. 

“Go ahead.”

“Ren’s awake. And something is _very_ wrong with him.”

***

Ren towers over Tavson, his dark shadow against the flames still spouting from the carcasses of downed ships. Hux sighs, letting the others walk in front of him. Ren is leaning back, one hand on an overturned crate. Even so, Tavson is dwarfed by him. His stiff spine and clutched hands stand out. 

“Why, though?” Ren is asking as Hux finally gets close enough to hear him. 

“Sir, we couldn’t just leave you there.”

“Why not. And don’t call me sir. I’m not anything anymore.”

“Were you ever?” Hux asks. The words spill from his lips before he can stop them. Even after they fall, he doesn’t try to call them back. 

“Probably not,” Ren says, turning to Hux. “At least, not what I thought I was.”

Hux trips. He stumbles forwards, barely catching himself on the edge the escape pod door that rests at one corner of the little camp. 

“Come again?” he says. 

“You’re right, Hux. I probably wasn’t. Just a puppet of Snoke, or Palpatine, or my own ambitions.”

Hux turns to Tavson, his eyes wide. His mouth is dry, and he realizes that his jaw has dropped open. Even in the thick damp, he has to work it a bit before he can say anything. 

“Is this what you meant by wrong, Tavson?”

“Yes, sir,” Tavson replies. 

“Did he get hit on the head?” 

“We didn’t notice any injuries,” Unamo tells him. “But we might have missed something. Things were a little chaotic when we first landed.”

“I’m not ill, General.”

“And I’m not a general. Only one of us is lying this time.”

Ren laughs. He actually laughs, his voice rich and thick as it slides through the air. 

“Did you get demoted?” he says when he finally quiets enough to be able to sleep. 

Hux finds laughter bubbling up in his own throat, finding its way free in a sharp bark. 

“I got shot,” he says. 

“Still not sure that counts as a demotion. And I’m certainly not ill. For the first time in a long time, I’m alright.”

Hux makes his way to one of the overturned crates serving as chairs around the campfire. He sits down on it, stretching his legs out in front of him. He puts a hand at his lower back, pressing his knuckles on either side of his spine. Ren’s eyes are fixed on him. Hux looks up at the sky instead, watching as the roiling clouds swirl above and the glitters of lighting flicker like strands of silver. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Ren asks. 

Hux glances around. “Kylo Ren wants to know the plan. We’re stuck on a planet with the burning corpses of Palpatine’s fallen empire all around us, and now, _now_ , Ren cares about a plan.”

“Sir…” Unamo says, her voice wavering. 

“What?” Hux says. “At this point, getting murdered by Ren would almost be a blessing.”

“It’s Ben now,” Ren says, at exactly the same time that CD-3245 and Stridon start in. 

“Sir, we need your-”

“You can’t, sir. We just saved-”

Hux flops back, lying across the crates. He stares back up at the sky. If he looks long enough, maybe he’ll drift away into the great expanse of stars, and when he comes back to ground, he’ll find all this is some sort of fever dream. He’ll wake up on the Finalizer in sickbay, with Phasma at one side of his bed and a cup of tea at the other, and all this will have been a nightmare.

“It’s won’t,” Ren says.

“Get out of my head, Ren” Hux answers without looking away from the sky. 

“Ben.”

“Sirs… what should we do about the hangar?” Unamo says.

“What hangar?” Tavson asks.

Hux levers himself up on one arm. Unamo’s lips are tight as she stands next to the fire, her shoulders square and her bun finally falling down from its tight ties. Her eyes flick toward him, then away as Hux sits the rest of the way up. 

“There is a hangar that’s still got some power. It looks like it might be salvageable,” she says. 

“Are the ships intact?” Ren asks.

“Why?” Hux fires back. “Going to go off and leave us here like you left to find the scavenger, and got us into this mess in the first place?”

“No,” Ren says.

“Well, good,” Hux snaps. “And we have no idea. You woke up before we could get into the hangar.”

“There isn’t likely to be much left,” Stridon says. “Most of the TIEs were scrambled during the fight, and the landers have no hyperdrive.”

“I’ve flown a TIE,” MX-1823 says.

“As have I,” Stridon adds. 

“We need to have the ships before we start planning on them,” Unamo reminds them. 

Hux stares at Ren, his eyes fixed unmovingly on Ren’s oddly clear eyes. Ren, in turn, is looking off into the distance, towards where they found the hangar.

“I can open the door,” he says. 

Hux isn’t the only one staring at Ren now. He has stood up, and his towering bulk is somehow more impressive in the absurd sweater and thin pants he’s wearing than it ever was belted and robed, with a mask over his face. His eyes flick towards Hux, and Hux glowers. He keeps forgetting that Ren has more than adequately proven his mind reading skills. 

Hux winces. So far, Ren has said nothing about whatever he has seen in Hux’s mind. Yet there is no guarantee that he will not suddenly decide to start. Hux stands too. Better to keep moving than to spend too much time talking to Ren.

“Well then,” he says, “Should we go? If Ren can open the door, maybe we have a chance. Maybe we actually have a chance.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely did not intend for this to take so long! I swear the next chapter will come faster!

The hangar opens smoothly. As Hux watches, the doors straighten themselves out, molding themselves back into their former shapes. They slip back into their housing with a shriek so soft that Hux hardly hears it. 

A curl of smoke drifts through the air. It’s dark against the blinking orange lights inside, illuminating just enough for the hanger that they can see the shapes of the TIEs still sitting in their bays. Ren starts forwards, then stops, stepping to one side. 

“Would you like to look it over, Hux?”

Hux stops in his tracks, glancing over at Unamo and Tavson. Unamo’s face is blank, as usual. Tavson, on the other hand, raises an eyebrow, tiling his head to one side. 

“Do you think something is going to fall or that there’s something poisonous inside?” he asks Ren. 

“No!” Ren snaps. Then he shakes his head, turning away from the hangar towards Hux. “No. You were worried I would go off and leave you all. I wanted to show you I wouldn’t.”

Hux purses his lips. He steps up next to Ren, peering inside. 

“Then don’t tell me, Ren. Show me. Get these people off this mess of a world,” he says softly. 

Ren opens his mouth, but Hux has already brushed past him, leading him into the dimness of the hangar. 

Inside, the air is cooler, not as humid as Exegol’s foetid surface. Hux takes a deep breath. It smells of burned rubber and circuitry, of cleaning products and death. Just a few feet from the door, an officer dressed in black and red lies crumpled over, a pool of congealed blood behind her head. Hux walks past her, the smell of iron thick in the air even this long after the ship’s crash. He catches a glimpse of her face, then looks away. The side of her face is a massive bruise where the blood has settled under her skin, and her matted hair sticks to her cheeks in long dark strands. 

“Over here,” Stridon calls. 

Hux turns his back on the dead officer, though he feels as though her open eyes still follow him as he walks across the hangar to where Stridon and CD-3245 stand next to a TIE. 

“So?”

“It’s got power, at least, sir,” Stridon says. 

Hux sighs, but doesn’t correct him. Maybe it makes them feel better to pretend that he’s still in charge, that he’s still some kind of leader. 

“Run diagnostics. Some of these have to be able to get us out of here.”

“Can I talk to you, Hux?”

Hux whips around. Ren is standing just a few meters away, leaning against one of the twisted columns that used to prop up the bays of TIEs. 

“I suppose,” he says. He turns to Stridon and CD-3245. “Go help Unamo and the rest. We need enough TIEs to get out of here.”

Ren leads him back a little ways away from the others, until they’re deep enough into the tumbled crates and shattered wires that they're almost out of sight. 

“Where are you planning to go when we leave here?”

“Why? Trying to see how fast you can abandon us?”

“Can you just stop it, Hux? I’m not trying to abandon you.”

“Why should I believe that?”

“I didn’t have you executed before.”

Laughter bubbles up in Hux’s belly, spilling over his lips and bouncing off the walls. He doubles over, clutching his belly. His whole body aches when he finally stops laughing, and he find himself hanging on to a loose hose. 

“And that’s supposed to make me trust you?” He chokes out. 

“Well…” Ren sits down on a packing crate. He sets his hands on his knees. “Can I read your mind?”

“We don’t have time for this, Ren. Just say what you mean.”

“Ben.”

“Whatever.”

“I can. Do you think that I did not know for one instant that you had betrayed us?”

Hux’s stomach twinges, but this time it isn’t from laughter. He holds tighter to the hose, his fingers aching as he tries to keep himself from falling to his knees. 

“You knew?” He manages to get out. 

“Of course.” Ren-Ben stands up, “So, do you think they’d help us now?”

“They?” Hux works his mouth - it’s dry as a bone. 

‘“The resistance, Hux. The people you were betraying us to.”

“Of course not,” Hux laughs again, this time a bitter, cracking laugh. “You think I’m worth anything to them, anything at all, now that I can’t give them information?”

“You might be. You don’t know them.”

“Not like you do, you mean, _Ben_?” Hux leans closer to him. Ben’s hands are clenched at his sides, his lips flat. “What makes you think they wouldn’t kill you on sight?”

“I helped kill Palpatine, didn’t I?”

Hux shakes his head. 

“And you think that makes up for everything else you did to them? To us!?”

“General!” MX-1823’s voice comes from close by.

Hux takes a deep breath, turning away from Ben. He steps out from behind the piles of crates and broken equipment. Then he looks over his shoulder. 

“Don’t think we’re done with this conversation,” he says. 

“I wouldn’t for an instant,” Ben fires back. 

Hux turns back to MX-1823. She’s standing next to one of the TIEs, her hand resting on the edge of the open cockpit. 

“There’s a bomber still intact, and two fighters look like they’re in fighting order.”

“Is that all?” Hux asks. 

“It looks like it.”

“I suppose that’s enough. We’ll have to put three of us in the bomber, but that should be fine, at least for short hops.”

“Where are we headed, sir?” Unamo asks. 

“I’m open to suggestions. My current plan is ‘get of this cursed planet.’”

“A good plan, sir,” Tavson laughs, leaving the crate he’s picking through, “but that is easier said than done. We only got here in the first place with help.”

“I can lead us out of the unknown regions.”

Ben has come up behind Hux. He glances around at them all, before narrowing his eyes at Hux. 

“As long as you’ll follow,” He says. 

“What choice do we have?” Stridon says.

“The real question is, what chance?” Unamo asks. 

Hux looks around. Unamo has her hands on her hips, her lips pursed. MX-1823 and CD-3245 stand skill, arms behind their backs and shoulders set. Stridon and Tavson are both around, as though not sure where to focus. 

“It’s not about the chance. We don’t have anything here. No food, save what we can find in the wreckage. No friends, but we won’t find those anywhere else. We have nothing. But if we leave, then maybe, maybe we have a chance to find some kind of life in the outer rim.”

“That’s not much of a chance,” Tavson says.

“But it is something,” Unamo smiles slightly, her sharp cheeks rounding out. 

“Then we’re decided. Re-Ben and I will lead, then Stridon and CD-3245, then MX-1823, Tavson and Unamo in the bomber.”

***

The rain slides across the TIE as they lift out of the twisted hole in the top of the bay. Hux shifts in the gunner’s chair. It’s not that it’s uncomfortable, but he hasn’t been in the a TIE in years. Not since the world was so much simpler. He hasn’t sat at the controls with the triggers under his thumbs since all he knew was the Order, and all he believed was that the Order was right, and good, and everything Rae Slone had believed it to be. 

“Stop squirming,” Ben hisses. 

“Why? Are you worried about getting attacked? Scared that someone will come after a few small TIEs?”

“Do you even know how to be civil?” Ben asks. 

“General, we’re right on your tail,” Unamo’s voice cracks over the radio, echoing through the little cabin of the TIE. 

“Follow us out. R-Ben will lead us back to known space, and then we will regroup.”

“Nice to know the full plan,” Ben hisses once the radio falls silent. 

“Do you have a better one?” Hux asks.

Ben doesn’t answer. Instead, he maneuvers around the tumbling hulk of half of a star destroyer. Hux bites his lip as he watches it disappear into the high clouds behind them. The other two TIEs skirt along it, following close behind them, but Hux only has eyes for the bigger ship. 

He has spent almost his whole life on similar ships. His every waking day for years was spent running the Finalizer, making sure that she stayed together. Now, he wonders if he will ever see another one. After the battle of Endor, after Jakku, there were still ships left. Rae saved them. 

There was no Rae Slone here. There was no one to stop them from all crashing down and burning to death on the Exagol’s surface. He had not saved them, could not save them. He hadn’t even tried. Hux presses his lips together. 

Ben spirals out of the upper atmosphere, and then into the swirling nebula around the planet. The two othere TIEs follow in their wake, sending swirls of gas out in their wake. 

“I’m sending you tracking coordinates so you can follow me through hyperspace,” Ben calls them over the radio. 

Hux lets his head fall back against the headrest. Neither of them are wearing helmets, and the atmosphere in the TIE vibrates as Ben brings the ship around and starts the jump. 

***

They come out of hyperspace over a desert planet. For one horrid moment, Hux thinks they are above Jakku. Then he notices the color, the soft red that is no where near as bright as Jakku. He purses his lips. 

“Where _are_ we, Ben?” he asks. 

Ben doesn’t answer. He lowers the attitude of the TIE, tipping them towards the planet. Hux shakes his head. He clicks the radio. 

“Unamo, Stridon, come in.”

“We’re right behind you, General,” Unamo’s voice comes back right away. 

“On your tail,” Stridon chimes in. 

“Where are we?” Tavson asks. 

“You’ll have to ask Ben, since apparently it’s a secret from me.”

“It’s not,” Ben says, just quiet enough not to be heard over the radio. “I just needed a moment, Hux.”

“At least this moment didn’t destroy the TIE,” Hux whispers. 

Ben snorts. It’s an odd sound, one that Hux has a moment of doubt about, a moment of not being sure what exactly he’s hearing. It might be the first time he has ever heard a sound like that from Ren - from Ben. 

“It’s Tatooine.” 

“Tatooine? Why there?” Stridon asks. Hux bites his lip. It seems his instructions to leave off the formalities have been followed… at least with regards to Ben. 

“Where else? We can’t go home - not that I imagine the Resistance has left any of the First Order intact. What we need is money and to become invisible. And there’s nowhere better to do that than Tatooine.”

Hux snaps off the radio. 

“We never finished that talk,” he says to Ben. “What right do you have to decide to make us criminals and outlaws.”

“Hux,” Ben’s voice is oddly soft, “We’ve done that to ourselves. Going to Tatooine won’t change that.”

“There have to be other options,” Hux says, though he finds his voice going thin at the suggestion.

“Then we’ll find them. But right now we need to ditch these ships and your uniforms.”

Hux clenches his fists on the gunnery controls, but takes a deep breath. 

“Fine. But next time, you don’t make the decision all on your own. You’re not Supreme Leader, after all.”

“And you’re not the General.”

Hux lets his head fall back against the headrest. 

“Land the TIE, Ben,” he says. 

Ben says nothing. Instead, he lowers them towards the planet. They spiral downwards, through thin clouds that hover high above the planet, and down towards the sand below. Hux can only see the sky as it slowly goes from black to pale brown, and then finally to pale blue. 

“Do you see the suns?” Ben asks suddenly. 

“What?” 

“The suns. There are two of them.”

“So?”

“I always liked them.”

“What do you mean?” Hux asks, almost in spite of himself. 

“The suns. There’s only one on Chandrila.”

“Chandrila?”

“Where I was born. When Luke - when I was older, and I first came to Tatooine, I thought the suns were exciting. Exotic.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Hux finally asks. 

Ben is silent for a moment, and all Hux can hear is the slow whoosh of the environmental system and the never-ending alerts of the rest of the TIE’s controls. 

“I don’t know,” he finally says. 

“Arkanis has two suns.” Hux answers, the words coming out before he can stop them. 

Whatever Ben responds with is lost in the whirr of motors and the rush of retro-thrusters as they touch down on Tatooine’s surface. 

***

Hux clambers out of the TIE ahead of Ben, landing on the hard desert surface. Unlike Jakku, with its endless dunes and blowing sand, this part of Tatooine is rocky and hard, crumbled red boulders. There are hills all about them, and as he watches, the other two TIEs touch down. CD-3245 gets out in front of Stridon, then Tavson, Unamo and MX-1823 all tumble out together. 

“Mos Eisley is just over the ridge,” Ben says. “It’s the biggest town. We should be able to get rid of those uniforms and trade some of the electronics from the ships.”

“Do we really want to cannibalize our only way off the planet?” Tavson asks. 

“Do we really want to fly around the Outer Rim in a bunch of TIEs without any support?” Unamo fires back. Hux can see CD-3245 nodding along with her.

“Ben and Unamo are right,” he says. “We can’t really continue on in these ships, however much we would like to. They’re not built for long-term travel and couldn’t really sustain it, even if they were less conspicuous.”

Tavson grins sheepishly, nodding as well this time. 

“With the hyperdrives and the sensor arrays, we’ll be able to afford something big enough for all of us and fairly well armed. We should go look first, though. Wouldn’t want to show all our cards right away.” Ben says. He turns away form the group, heading up one of the ridges to the side.

“Do I even want to know how you know that?” Hux says in an undertone as he catches up.

“Have you forgotten who my father was?” Ben responds. 

Hux sucks on his teeth. He pushes in front of Ben, cresting the ridge. Before he can start down the other side, though, Ben flings out an arm in front of him. 

“Get your insignia off,” he hisses to Hux. Then he turns around and looks at the rest of their bedraggled little band. 

“Pull off your insignia,” Ben tells them. The officers start without question, but MX-1823 and CD-3245 look at each other and then at Hux. Hux nods to them. He walks over to them, cocking his head to one side. 

“Did you know that Captain Phasma had her name before she became a stormtrooper?” he asks. 

They both shake their heads, staring straight at Hux. 

“She joined us when she met my father. She grew up on Parnassos, and chose us. But more importantly, she kept who she was. And because of that, she was _my_ closest friend.”

“Sir?”

“Well, I’m not the general any more, and Phasma’s dead, and the First Order is dead along with her. But you aren’t, and you need names, just like Phasma needed one outside the Order.” Hux says, a lump in his throat. He can feel Ben somewhere behind him, somewhere closer than Hux wants. He rolls his shoulders, trying to shake of the itch between them. 

“Can we just…” CD-3245 looks at MX-1823 and then back at Hux, “pick them?”

“I don’t see why not,” Hux says. 

“Mixie,” MX-1823 tells him. “That’s what some of my old squad mates called me. Cause of how MX-1 looks. They thought it was funny.”

“I guess I’m Cad then,” CD-3245 says. “I don’t… I don’t think I like…”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Hux says. “Just let us know when you do.”

He turns away from them, catching a nod from Unamo as he makes his way back to the top of the ridge. As he takes his first step down, Ben joins him, and they walk together towards the sprawl of Mos Eisley below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +Find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/saltandlimes/) and [tumblr](http://saltandlimes.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

Hux follows Ben into a narrow doorway. Its arch is low, just above his head, and Ben has to duck a little to pass through it. Inside, the room is filled with floating smoke and loud voices. A table just beside the entrance falls silent as they walk past. 

“Unfasten your jacket,” Ben hisses to him. 

Hux cocks his head to one side, then catches the stares of the beings next to the door. He pulls apart his collar, letting his jacket hang open. Ben watches, eyes fixed on Hux, until he untucks his shirt. 

“That’s better,” he says. Hux stays silent. 

Ben leads them both to bar, leaning over and smacking his hands flat on the sticky surface. Hux bites back a grimace. 

“Two tsiraki, and a moment of your time,” Ben demands loudly. 

“Whatcha want with that stuff, slick?” the barman answers. 

“Grew up on it,” Ben tells him. “Gotta get my buddy here used to a real drink sometime.”

“You haul him home then. My boys don’t do that work.”

“It’s a deal.” 

Ben passes one of the tall glasses to Hux. 

“Go slow,” he says. 

“What makes you think this is my first time?” Hux asks. 

“Were you and the captain sneaking drinks together behind my back? Or having rowdy parties off shift?”

“You don’t know as much as you think, Ben.”

Ben turns away from him, one eyebrow up as he waves back to the bartender. 

“Know anyone around here who buys parts?” he asks. 

The bartender purses his lips, his lekku twitching a little. 

“What kind of parts?” he asks. 

“The kind that needs a good dealer who can pay well.”

“Flight or forage?”

“A little of both. New stuff, too, and just a bit worn.”

“Worn how?” The bartender brushes one of his lekku over his shoulder. “Because if it’s scorch marks that’s one thing, but no one around here’ll buy anything that’s seen anything major for a price.”

“Just scratches. They were in a hold that took a rough landing.”

“Hmm,” the bartender hums to himself. “Try Taax, over near dock five. He might be looking.”

“Thanks,” Ben tells him. He fishes a circular piece of medal out of his pocket, and flips it up towards the bartender. 

“What was that?” Hux asks as the twi’lek walks off.

“Wupiupi,” Ben tells him. “Hutt money.”

“I should have said, where did you get it?”

“Saved it,” Ben says. He grabs his drink and takes a long swig. 

Hux watches the corner of Ben’s eye twitch as he sets the glass down. He says nothing, only takes his own sip. The tsiraki burns down his throat, fruit filling his nose and sharp herbs sparkling on his tongue. He takes another drink, raising an eyebrow as Ben stares. 

“I did tell you this wasn’t my first time,” he says. 

“Where _did_ you learn to drink, then?” Ben asks. 

“I grew up a soldier, Ben. Where do you think?”

Ben doesn’t answer. He raises his glass high enough to hide most of his face, his eyes peaking over the top. Against the blue of the liquor they’ve taken on a green cast, and Hux realizes that he’s never really thought about the fact that Ben has eyes. 

As Kyle Ren, as a dark shadow storming through Hux’s ship, he was eyeless. The blank curves of his mask did not even stare. They simply existed, a chrome and leather nightmare that his troopers shied away from and his officers feared. 

When Ren lost his mask, all Hux could see was the red of his scar. All he could remember was the ashes falling in place of Starkiller’s perpetual snow as he ran from his shuttle towards Ren’s crumpled body. Every time he caught a glimpse of Ren’s naked mouth, all he could remember was it twisted in pain. 

Now, though, he can look past the mask, and beyond the past. And Ben has nice eyes.

***

Hux is a little tipsy when they leave the cantina. He brushes his hand over the arch of the doorway, the grit and sand clinging to his fingertips as they step out in to Tatooine’s bright sunlight. It blows across his flushed cheeks in the light breeze. Hux glances sideways. Ben is looking straight back at him, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. 

“What?” Hux asks. 

“Nothing,” Ben says quickly, turning away so fast he almost bumps into the dome of a nearby building. 

Hux swallows hard, following as Ben wends his way through the narrow streets of Mos Eisley. The sun beats down on his black jacket, the ill-fitting trousers sticking to his ass. He picks at them, trying to pull the sides away from his thighs. 

“Stop that,” Ben says, glancing over his shoulder. 

“What,” Hux says, “stop this?” He plucks at the trousers again. 

“Yes that. You’re getting looks.”

“Are you suggesting that I don’t stand out anyway?” Hux asks. 

“That _is_ a fair point,” Ben answers, screwing up his face as though the admission tastes sour in his mouth. “Perhaps we should buy something for you and the others before we try to get a ship.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Hux demands. “It’s not as though we’re rolling in credits.”

“Clothes are cheap. Just a few pieces of the intake manifold on one of the exhausts should do it.”

“What will you have us wearing, rags?”

“Have you ever even bought a tunic?”

Hux turns away. What is he to say to that, to the idea that he ever would have had a chance to go to a shop, to choose his own clothes, to pick his own life. He shakes his head, rubbing his hand over his face. 

“Let’s just get a move on,” he says, turning back to Ben. 

***

They step inside the shop, the rough fabric of Hux’s new trousers and tunic itching a little as it slides across his skin. The sound of metal grating on metal fills the air. They’d gotten Mixie to bring them a few things to trade for new clothes for them all, and she’d taken the others back the bits of leather and linen they’d been able to find. The blaster holster on Hux’s thigh is second hand, but at least Unamo had been able to hold onto his blaster itself. 

“Let me do the talking,” Ben says. 

“And end up with a piece of junk? Not a chance,” Hux hisses. 

“Whatcha want?” comes a voice from the back of the shop. 

“It’s more a matter of what you have to sell,” Ben says. 

“Oh is that how it is? What are you, some kind of Hutt?” The owner of the shop steps into view, his horns just barely missing a cord hanging from the ceiling. His blue skin is faded with Tatooine’s dust, but his bright Chagrian eyes still sparkle. 

“He does resemble one, doesn’t he?” Hux grins at the mechanic. The Chagrian laughs, clapping Hux on the shoulder. 

“I like you,” he says. “Taax Jarther at your service.”

“Hux,” he pauses, glancing at Ben, “Sloane, Hux Sloane at yours.”

“So, Sloane, whatcha looking for?”

“A ship. We’ve had a bit of a… problem with ours.”

“A whole ship?” Taax cocks his head to one side, rubbing the base of a horn with a hand. “That’s a bit of a tall order, you know.”

Ben steps up beside Hux, pulling one of the TIE’s shield collators from the bag he’s had slung over his back. 

“Is it really so hard?”

“Depends on how many more of those you’ve got,” Taax says, his eyes getting wide. 

“Show us the ships and we’ll make an offer.”

“Well then,” Taax smiles at the both of them, “Tell me more about what you’re looking for.”

“The crew’s five besides us. We need a good hold, maybe a dock for a smaller ship,” Hux says.

“It’s a dangerous world out there,” Ben steps up next to Hux, staring at Taax. “Gotta have a ship fit for it.”

“I see what you mean. Especially if you’re trading in goods like that,” Taax points to the shield collator. 

“So what do you have?”

“Well there’s a Corellian YT-”

“No,” Ben cuts Taax off. “What else?”

Taax raises a brow ridge at Hux, but shrugs. 

“Suit yourself. There’s an old Barloz I have that might fit your purposes. It’s a bit slow, but it’ll do.”

“And?” Ben asks. 

“There’s the Allanar N3 and a Ghtroc 720 if you want to look at those. The 720’ll be your best bet if you’re dead set on a carrying something smaller along with you. Not a flashy ship, but this one’s had a few upgrades that’ll serve you well.”

“The Ghtroc,” Hux cuts in as Ben starts to answer. “That’s the one we want.”

“Hux…” Ben says, turning to look him. 

“Give me a moment, Taax,” Hux says. He walks to the other side of the shop, not looking to see if Ben follows. When he finally turns, Ben is so close that their noses almost brush. 

“Don’t you want to at least look?” Ben demands. 

“Since you’ve nixed the Corellian ships, it’s the only one that’s remotely well built. The Allanar might have been alright ten years ago, and you’ll hate the Barloz - it’s like a lumbering Nerf on a three-day bender.”

“Who the fuck are you and what have you done with Hux,” Ben mutters. 

Hux raises an eyebrow, but Ben only sighs and turns back to Taax. The Chagrian has his face buried in a broken intake manifold, but he looks up the instant Ben moves towards him. 

“So, whatcha’ think? Wanna see the Ghtroc?” he asks. 

“Apparently we do,” Ben replies. 

***

It needs a new paint job. It’s the first thing Hux notices when they step into the slip and see the ship above them. The accents on the underbelly are worn, and there’s rust creeping in around a few of the intake ports. Other than that, however, it’s in remarkably good shape. Ben follows Taax up the ramp when he lowers it to show them around. Hux waves them off. 

“I want to check out the outside,” he says. 

“It’s a little old, but it’ll do you fine,” Taax calls down. 

“Sure,” Hux says. He turns away, making his way over to the deflector manifold. 

He’s just checking over a few of the external sensor arrays when his com chirps in his ear. 

“General?” Unamo’s voice hums in his ear. 

“It’s Hux,” Hux replies. 

“We’ve stripped two of the TIEs down. It’s still pretty obvious where they came from, though.”

“There’s nothing we can do about that,” Hux tells her. “And we want to get a fair price for them. They _are_ First Order tech.”

Unamo chuckles. “So how much are we paying for this new ship of ours.”

“It depends on how the inside looks. It’s in surprisingly good shape outside.”

“We’ll need some way to bring the parts when you want them,” Unamo says

Hux hums something in response. Ben and Taax have appeared at the top of the ramp again and Ben is beckoning to him. 

“Get everything ready for when we need it,” he tells Unamo. “I have to go check up on Ben.”

“Good luck, sir,” Unamo says. The radio clicks off. 

“So,” Hux calls to them as he starts up the ramp, “how does it look?”

“Well, we might want new mattresses,” Ben says, “but the cockpit is in good enough shape as are the weapons. You’ll have to look at the drive.”

Hux pauses, just before the top of the ramp. 

“I think that’s the first time you’ve every acknowledged I’m useful,” he says. 

“You two must make a fine set of captains,” Taax laughs, his horns shaking. “When you’re not fucking, you’re fighting, I see.”

“What?” Hux says at the same time that Ben yelps.

“It’s not like that,” he says, his voice higher than Hux has ever heard it. 

“Sure, it’s not,” Taax says. “Want to come see the engine then?”

Hux nods, following Taax inside the ship. There are little bits of insulation in the corners of the hallway, and a scrape on the floor. Hux presses his lips together, but doesn’t say anything. If this is the worst of things, in the ship, it isn’t that bad.

They reach the center of the ship and Hux stops short. The engine access is open, the panel to one side of the central tower. 

“What,” he says, “is that?”

“So…” Taax answers, backing away a little, “the previous owner wasn’t the neatest in his modifications. But I swear, they’re better than you’d get factory new.”

Hux snorts. He makes his way over to the access port, peering inside. There’s a mess of wires, converters and boards, elastic banding holding some parts of the secondary circuits together. Hux sighs. 

“This is going to take time.”

“How much?” Ben asks. 

“Enough that you should go sit down,” he says. 

“I’ll wait,” Ben tells him. 

“Fine. Just don’t talk.”

“Fine. Just don’t screw up.”

“Fine.”

***

Taax waves at them as the ramp raises. He’s got one hand on the hover sled full of TIE parts, and a grin almost as wide as his face. Hux waves back, Mixie right beside him. Tavson is somewhere inside - he’d said something about wanting to look at the cockpit. Everyone else is back with the one remaining TIE. 

The hot, dry air rushes past as they lift from the slip. The ship’s engine splutters when it kicks higher. The last light fades from the edges of the ramp, and then all around them is the ship. Hux takes a deep breath, filtered air flooding his lungs and filling his throat. He lets out a long sigh.

“It feels better, doesn’t it?”

“What?” Hux asks. He turns to Mixie. She’s standing at attention, back to the corridor’s wall. 

“The air. It feels better now that we’re in a ship.”

Hux cocks his head to one side. He takes another breath. Then he nods. Mixie gives him a small smile. She stands at attention, her eyes fixed on him as Hux makes his way towards the cockpit. 

The engine is humming quietly when he reaches the center chamber of the ship. Hux slips on engineer’s gloves and pulls open the access hatch. Inside the wires he’s bound with some of the insulation Taax gave them are holding in place. Hux grins. While the ship hums around him, and the air whispers along his cheeks, the wire buzz. Everything is as it should be. 

He closes the hatch, turning towards the bow of the ship. The cockpit door is open when he reaches it, and Hux steps inside. 

“It wasn’t the best deal,” Ben says. 

“Does it really matter?” Hux asks him. 

“We could have used a few of those parts to trade for things in the future.”

“The future?” Hux drops into the copilot’s chair. “What is that, then?”

Ben spins around, staring at Hux. His strange, dark eyes are wide and his tongue flicks out over his lips. 

“What do you mean?”

“We have a ship. What then? What do we do now?”

Ben looks back out the front of the ship, lowering it downward to the last remaining TIE far below them. 

“You were the one who told me I’m not Supreme Leader anymore,” he mutters. 

“So if you’re not in command, you won’t help at all?” Hux hisses. “Is that it?”

In the rush of the landing gear deploying and the hydraulics hissing, Hux almost misses Ben’s reply. But as he leans in, he barely catches it.

“I just don’t know how.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +I wish that I could promise that I was going to be more active in writing in the near future, but those seem to not really come true. This fic WILL continue, but it seems rather slow XD
> 
> +Find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/saltandlimes/) and [tumblr](http://saltandlimes.tumblr.com/).
> 
> +I'm always down to chat there about Star Wars or whatever else.

**Author's Note:**

> +I'm so excited for this fic. It's the first time I've felt inspired by Kylux in quite a long time, and I'm SO happy to show you guys where I'm going with it. 
> 
> +Find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/saltandlimes) and [tumblr](http://saltandlimes.tumblr.com/), as well as everywhere else. I'm Saltandlimes everywhere.


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